


Two-Spirit

by Geonn



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1950s, Alaska, Crossdressing, F/F, Female Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Genderbending, Masturbation, Pilots, Sexual Confusion, Sexual Fantasy, Two-Spirit, Veterans, Vibrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 11:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geonn/pseuds/Geonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melita Abbott doesn't know which side of her friend she lusts more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two-Spirit

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to my story The WASP and the Honeybee ((http://archiveofourown.org/works/670936). I don't know which you should read first... it probably doesn't matter. Either/or!

When Emerson first mentioned it, Melita thought she was cracked. There was no way it would work, no chance anyone would believe it. She was feminine through and through. She might have a little bit of masculinity here and there. A swagger in her walk or the way she kept her hair shaved close at the nape of her neck spoke to her being manlier than the next girl. But that was partly due to serving alongside so many men. A lot of the women took to smoking cigars and dressing in clothes they would be horrified to don back home. Melita had covered her hair, her pride and joy, with a kerchief to protect it. Now that she was home she shuddered at the idea of tying it back each and every day.

But Emerson was already in too deep to back out. Their first morning in the new house, Melita got up first and glanced up at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. She saw scuffed brown shoes draped by black slacks, freshly ironed for a sharp crease that ran down either leg. The pants rode high on her hips, a starched white shirt tucked tightly into the waistband. Emerson wore a pair of thin suspenders and a wide brown tie knotted at her throat.

She stopped at the bottom of the stairs to button her sleeves, looked up to see Melita staring at her from the kitchen, and held her hands out. She crossed one foot over the other and did a well-choreographed spin. She placed her hands on her hips and smiled when she was facing forward again, raising one unplucked eyebrow as she crossed the floor with a manly stride.

"What do you think?"

"I think... I was wrong. I think this will work."

Emerson chuckled and doffed an imaginary hat as she settled at the kitchen table for breakfast. Melita watched her from the kitchen, distracted by the sight of the woman she'd lusted after for years dressed so convincingly as a man. When they agreed to go into business together once peace was established, Melita accepted she was opening the door to a world of hurt. She didn't love Emerson, though. It was just a little crush, a few errant feelings that came from serving with someone. Melita didn't, and couldn't, be in love with a woman.

But at the moment she'd be hard-pressed to call Emerson Bishop a woman. At the moment she was sipping her coffee, staring out the window with her face lit by the early morning sun. Her black hair fell across her forehead in a sharp line. The high collar of her shirt was in part to disguise her lack of Adam's apple, something that would have been obvious on a throat as delicate as hers. The hand holding the mug still seemed too womanly to Melita, but they were knotted and roughened by years working on planes and clutching the controls of stubborn planes. They would pass a cursory inspection, and if anyone spent more time than that looking at her, there would be more giveaways. 

The softness in her eyes, for one. The curve of her lips which, even without lipstick, seemed like a closed lily. 

"Honeybee?" Melita snapped out of her trance. Emerson pointed at the stove. "I think the eggs are about ready."

She spun to look at the stove where the eggs had apparently been trying to get her attention. "Oh! Shoot! Shoot, shoot, shoot..." She managed to save them, transferring them to a plate and waving a hand over them to dispel the smoke that still wafted from the hardened yellow yolks. "I think these are over-easy, well-done, and scrambled."

"Sounds like a Honeybee Special."

Melita brought the plates over and placed one in front of Emerson. Emerson unfolded a napkin in her lap. "Thank you, sweet."

"You're welcome." She sat and ran her eyes over Emerson's outfit again. It was only then that she noticed how flat the shirt rested over her chest. Her chest was never really pronounced, but the absence was notable to someone who was looking. "What did you do with your boobs?"

Emerson grinned. "Bound them. It took a little doing to get it all twisted around myself, but I got it done." She lifted her arms and stretched to the left, then to the right. "Got a good range of motion, but I'm going to try and keep it to a minimum. Don't want an awkward expansion in mixed company."

"What did you use?"

"ACE bandages."

"That's all?" 

Emerson shrugged. "Not all of us are as blessed with curves as you, Mel. If you wanted to pass, you'd..." She leaned her head to the side and ran her eyes over Melita's body. "Well, I think you'd be shit out of luck, darling."

Melita tried not to blush at the perusal. "Flirt."

Emerson chuckled and took a bite of her food to see if it had cooled enough for human consumption. They ate quietly and Melita alternated between looking out the window and examining Emerson's outfit for inconsistencies or giveaways. She tried looking at her as a stranger and remembered when they had been strangers. The way her eye had been drawn to the tall, confident pilot, the way her bisexual friend teased her about the obvious attraction... 

"Emmy...?"

"Mm?"

She loved that, the way Emerson could sometimes speak with just a noise. She loved that she could decipher the meaning behind it.

"You really look good."

Emerson smiled, and for a moment she was just a nice young man in a new suit. "Well, thank you, Melita. You look pretty good yourself."

She held her coffee cup and looked into its black surface, seeing her face reflected back. _You look so good that if we'd met like this, I'd have definitely wanted you to come up and talk to me. I'd have let you buy me a drink, and I would have made sure you knew to ask me to dance. And we'd have closed down the dance floor, darling. And then in the car you'd driven me home in, with you whispering about my reputation and where good girls drew the line, I'd let you kiss me there in the dark._

"I better get goin' if I'm going to get there by noon." She wiped her mouth on a napkin and pushed her chair back, pausing to fork the last piece of egg and pop it into her mouth. "Thank you for the breakfast, Mel. It was absolutely delicious."

"Sure. Want me to help you out with the pre-flight?"

They walked out to the garage together, Melita letting Emerson lead so she could critique her stride. There was nothing feminine about it, no giveaways that would tell a stranger the truth about her gender. It was an amazing transformation, and one Melita wouldn't have believed had she not witnessed it with her own eyes. 

In the hangar Emerson put on her leather jacket, a memento she'd gotten during the war, and climbed into the plane. They ran through the checklist, a precaution they both knew by heart. When it was all clear, Melita gave Emerson a thumbs-up and stepped outside. Emerson taxied the plane down the long dirt runway they had painstakingly cleared and smoothed. The wind blew back Melita's hair, and she cupped a hand over her eyes as the plane lifted off and took to the skies. She chuckled under her breath at the site.

It didn't matter how many times she saw it. She was still stunned by the majesty of climbing into a plane and coaxing it up off the ground. Making it stay in the sky was an awe-inspiring feat, and she was impressed by Emerson's ability to make it happen. She waved her arm over her head in farewell and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her pants as she walked to the office.

#

They had been in town for a month, and Emerson's new masculinity seemed to be doing the trick. No one seemed to question her, and she'd been invited to join several of Arnaq's male-only social clubs. Some nights she dragged herself home after midnight, smelling of booze and cigar smoke, and collapsed on the couch rather than summoning the energy to make it upstairs. On those nights Melita would be awoken by the commotion, wait until it died down, then quietly went to tuck a blanket around her exhausted friend.

The jobs continued to come in, orders for delivery and pick-up requests from remote outposts all over the Alaskan outback. That particular night, Emerson radioed around dinnertime and said she would be staying over in Culuk due to a weather system moving in. Melita warned her to stay dry and went locked the office, walking alone back to the house they shared. Cohabitation had been an arrangement between friends when the war came to its blissful end. Emerson needed to fly, and Alaska didn't much care about gender when it came to a desperately-needed pilot. Melita was facing a return home and a life plan she'd never signed up for when Emerson pointed out that a pilot would need a mechanic.

When they arrived, one of the locals mistook Emerson for male due to the way she dressed and the cut of her hair. She let the assumption stand thinking that even in Alaska people might prefer to do business with a man. So far it was working out well, with only the problem of an unmarried man and woman living together. They assured everyone they were just good friends who met in the military, that there was no romantic involvement whatsoever, but that only led to the single women of their town to consider Emerson up for grabs. Arnaq wasn't large, but there were enough predators to create a hassle.

Melita made herself dinner and ate in the living room, listening to General Electric Theater. She wondered if Emerson was listening in Culuk. When the storm that was blocking Emerson's homecoming began pelting the window with fat water droplets, Melita got up and lit some candles in case the power went out. She put one on the bookshelf and paused to run her fingers over the spines. At the end, standing taller than the novels and biographies, was a photo album. Mel took it off the shelf and carried it to the couch.

The photos had been taken all around the base where they'd been stationed, friends and coworkers and fellow WASPs. She flipped to a group shot taken the day peace had been announced, remembered being huddled against the side of a Jeep while the enlisted man they'd harangued into snapping the picture waited for them to hold still. Melita and Renee were on the ground, and Emerson was standing behind Melita with one hand on her shoulder. Johanna had her hand on the hood of the Jeep, her narrow eyes squinted even further due to looking into the sun.

She focused first on Johanna. Melita remembered when Johanna took her aside and said, "Look, I'm going to say this clear and simple because I think you'd want to know. I play for the other team. I'm not hitting on you. I have a girl back home that I'm sweet on, and I want to come back the hero to sweep her off her feet. But I wanted you to know so it didn't come out in a bad way later on."

Melita had been shocked at first, but by the time Johanna stopped talking she had recovered enough to joke. She feigned sadness and said, "Does this mean you don't find me attractive?"

Johanna laughed, slapped Melita on the shoulder, and said, "Oh, I think we'll get along just fine."

Her gaze drifted to Emerson's face, her hand resting so casually on Melita's shoulder. The picture had been taken only an hour after their unofficial reunion. A long drive in a Jeep, caught in the rain, and an awkward moment where Melita was sure Emerson was about to kiss her had made things strange between them. They avoided each other for a week, but then... armistice. Peace fell, and how could she not share such a momentous occasion with her new best friend?

Now here they were. Back in civilian life, still flung together, and Melita still found it hard to understand her feelings for the pilot. She'd never been attracted to another woman. Even her flirting with Johanna was just play. The idea of going further never occurred to her. At least it didn't before Emerson Leigh Bishop strolled into her life.

She didn't believe in love at first sight, or falling for the person and not the gender. Johanna tried to explain that maybe she was just bisexual, but that didn't make a lick of sense to her. She was confused enough, and one night she was drunk enough, to lock lips with Johanna just to see what it was like. When Johanna's hand moved between her legs, Melita had gone rigid and peeled away even in her alcoholic stupor. 

But would she push away Emerson's hand? No one had ever made her feel the way Emerson did. Queasy, but not necessarily in a bad way. Uncomfortable and out of sorts. Now that she'd had a month to get used to Emerson as a man, those feelings were rushing back. Her eyes were tricking her brain, assuring her that she'd been attracted to the man all along. Emerson may have been presenting as female when they met, but now he was a man. And that made her romantic feelings right and totally understandable.

Except she didn't want Emerson in bindings and a pair of slacks. She wanted Emerson, period, and that included the rare times when the lights were low, the curtains were closed, and she let her hair dry naturally after a bath. When she wore a simple nightdress with transparent sleeves and walked barefoot through their house like a wraith. She spent so much time being male, so much time hiding who she was, that those moments between sundown and bedtime were like she was taking a deep breath for the first time all day.

Melita flipped through the photo album again, trying to make sense of Emerson's every side. She was a brazen female pilot, a war hero, a bush pilot, a woman, a man... She was hard as nails and could spend most of the night with the boys, smoking cigars and drinking them under the table, but then some nights she would stay at home and read with her feet tucked up underneath her.

"Who are you, Emmy?" she whispered. "And why can't I get you outta my mind?"

She put the album back on the shelf and took herself to bed. She didn't feel like a bath so she simply undressed and put on her own nightgown. She crawled under the blankets and pushed her pillows up against the headboard, making a cave with her bedding so that she could curl up into it if she got too cold during the night. 

As she was arranging things, she realized that she had the whole house to herself. She didn't have to worry about making noise. Not that she or Emerson really "worried" about being overheard. They both had needs that weren't being taken care of. Emerson would casually tell Melita she was going to lie down for a bit, and Melita would wait until she was gone before she turned up the radio just in case Emerson got a bit too vocal. Melita had it easy; she could always wait until Emerson was away to scratch her itches. It was the cost of two people living in close quarters; sometimes things got overheard.

But tonight she could do whatever she wanted. She finished arranging her nest, sat up against the upright pillows, and crossed her legs in front of her. She stretched for her nightstand and pulled open the top drawer. Handy Hannah was right there, a small blue handheld device that looked like a phone receiver that was missing the bottom half. She plugged it in, checked the charge, and moved it under the blankets as if afraid to be caught. She had attachments and she chose the most phallic to place on the business end of the device. She knew Emerson had a Handy Hannah as well; she'd heard its buzz through the walls and more often than not the sound had made her reach for her own massager. 

She held it in her right hand and pulled up the hem of her nightgown, baring her legs under the blanket. She stroked the inside of her thighs and then moved inward. She used two fingers to get herself ready, her shoulders sinking into the soft pillow as she began to relax. Her eyes fluttered shut and she tried to focus on a fantasy before she got started. Arnaq had a dearth of single men, one of the reasons Emerson's availability was so hotly contested by women like Laverne Bedford. To them, Melita was an obstacle to be overcome. They thought Emerson was infatuated with her, that she was leading "him" on, blinding him to other romantic possibilities. Unfortunately it also meant that she didn't have many options for fantasy lovers. 

No one would walk in... so that meant there was no shame in the fantasy she chose. She touched two fingers to her tongue to wet them, putting both hands between her legs. She rubbed herself with her wet fingers, the vibrator heavy against her inner thigh. She could feel the cord on her arm and she changed position so that it wouldn't tangle her up.

She imagined Emerson stepped into the doorway. Hair slicked back away from her forehead, top buttons of her shirt undone to reveal the bindings. No... no bindings. Just flesh, and a flat chest. When Emerson entered the room, he was tall and strapping. He was lean, and he was male. Melita could picture it perfectly and pushed her heels further apart so her legs were open wide for the fantasy lover. 

"I've wanted this for so long, Honeybee," Emerson whispered in his husky voice.

"Me too." It felt so good to admit out loud that she almost sobbed. 

Emerson cupped her face. "You're so beautiful. My beautiful Mel." He leaned in and kissed both cheeks, as Emerson had done so many times. His fingers remained where they were, spread so that the smallest was on her ear and the thumb was touching the corner of her mouth. Mel would have turned her head to suck the tip if it had been real, but instead she just parted her lips in a gasp and imagined him leaning in and brushing their lips together. Then he kissed her chin, the tip of her nose, her eyebrows... 

"Emerson, please."

He lowered his lips to hers, as close as possible without turning into a kiss, and he traced her mouth with the tip of his tongue. Just a slight, wet touch that left her trembling and desperate. Then a flicker, a flash of tongue against Melita's teeth, and she belatedly tried to capture it. Emerson chuckled and Melita felt a burst of amused fury. "Gimme," she said, and she imagined herself aggressively kissing her friend's lips. She felt the stubble on his upper lip, felt his weight on top of her, and she moved the Handy Hannah between her legs.

"What else do you want me to give you, Honeybee?"

"Give me your stinger," Melita gasped, her voice unimpeded by a physical mouth on hers. "Sting me, Emerson..."

She pressed the attachment against her lips. Her ass clenched as her body pushed toward the device, her toes curling as she stretched her legs out to either side. She could almost see Emerson on top of her, still fully clothed if a bit undone, cock rising from his fly, the tip of it wet with her juices. She wanted it to be dripping with her, so she shifted her wrist and pressed it deeper, the vibrations affecting her entire body as she kept her finger on the power button. 

"Want, want," she gasped, the only word she could fully form. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she repeated her mantra, "Want. Want." 

Her mind demanded she finish the thought, and it came out as a whimper. "Want you, Emerson..."

She pressed her arms inward, face twisted like a fist, her breasts pushed together under the loose fabric of her gown as she thrust her hips up against her vibrator. She tightened around it and imagined what Emerson's groan of pleasure would sound like in her ear. The gasp, the "Huh," and then the soft press of lips against her neck just below her ear. Even fantasizing about a kiss there made her entire body quake.

Melita steadied her breath and kept her eyes closed. She pictured post-climax Emerson rising up, peeling off her shirt, revealing breasts... her flat stomach... her eyes that were without a doubt feminine, and her mind relented. She hadn't just fantasized about a man; her orgasm was from imagining her friend, her best friend, her _female friend_ fucking her. 

She took the device out from under the blanket, still trembling a little as she put it aside. She unplugged it and pulled the cozy nest of blankets back around herself as she settled in. She rolled onto her side, hand tucked against her cheek, and looked at the window. The rain was still plunking against the glass with loud impacts. She wondered if there would be ice in the morning. She wondered if the storm would linger long enough to strand Emerson in Culuk for another day. She wondered if people would be mad that their deliveries were late.

She wondered if she was in love with her friend.

#

Arnaq had a summer picnic every year, a celebration of the few weeks of the year the sun actually shone and the world seemed to remember the possibility of other seasons. Melita wore a sundress with large red flowers on it, her shoulders bare and her legs feeling completely naked for the first time in months. She wore a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses, more as symbols than out of any actual need for either of them. Emerson wore a short-sleeved shirt - tan with thin brown stripes - under a vest and brown corduroy pants. By mid-afternoon her forehead was dotted with sweat and the glass of lemonade seemed to be permanently attached to her left hand.

Melita paid attention but said nothing due to the poor woman's pride. After the third time she swiped her sleeve across her forehead, however, she took pity. "Em, we can go if you want."

"You've been looking forward to this all month. We can stay a while longer."

"You're about to sweat off another ten pounds, and I don't think you can afford it. Really, it's okay if you want to call it a day early."

Emerson patted her hand. "I'm having fun. I'm just a little hot."

Laverne Bedford found them a little bit after that conversation, and Melita could see Emerson regretting her decision to stay. They made small talk with the town's most-eligible bachelorette (a title she'd bestowed upon herself, as far as Melita could see) until the watermelon-eating contest was announced. Emerson had flown the melons in herself, and she'd managed to get an extra one for them to keep. Melita didn't see the point in paying for something extravagant like a non-local food, then eating it as quickly as possible. Where was the enjoyment, the savoring? But she supposed she wouldn't ruin everyone else's fun.

Kuka, the old man everyone in town called grandfather, won the contest with a full minute to spare, wiping the juices from his chin as he accepted the grand prize ribbon. Melita turned to Emerson just as a fat drop of sweat dripped past her ear and darkened the collar of her shirt. She touched Emerson's arm with two fingers.

"How could you possibly be enjoying yourself? You're sweltering!"

"I'm enjoying it because you are. I'm enjoying your enjoyment." She slipped her arm around Melita's and patted her arm. "We can give it a little while longer."

Melita was skeptical but didn't argue. They stayed through the barbeque cook-off and finally left after the small but still impressive fireworks display. They walked back home in the waning light, Melita very aware of the fact she would have been holding Emerson's hand if she'd truly been a man. And if Emerson was a man, and they'd just spent this wonderful day together, and if they ended up in the same house, she knew Handy Hannah would stay in her drawer.

"What are you thinking about?"

Emerson's voice startled her in the darkness. She shrugged and looked at the stars, letting her gaze drift toward the mountains, and her eyes were caught on Emerson's profile. 

"Can I ask you something? You can refuse to answer if you want to."

"Curiosity is piqued. Shoot."

Melita pondered how she would phrase it. "Which one is you? I mean to say... are you a woman who dresses up like a man sometimes, or are you a man who has to be a woman from time to time? You cut your hair short, you dressed like a man even before the misunderstanding, and you look so... so goddamn comfortable like this. I guess I'm just wondering which one is really you and which one is just the mask."

Emerson looked down at the ground as they walked, hands in her pockets as she pondered. Finally she said, "Does it make a difference?"

 _Yes. Say man. Say you're a man inside, say that your soul is male and I'll be freed of this guilt and fear._ She shook her head, her curls bouncing off her cheeks. "No. I guess it doesn't. I was just curious."

"Then I guess I won't answer. If that's all right."

"Sure. No big deal."

When they got home, Emerson undid the top button of her shirt and yanked it open, rubbing her throat. There was a line where the collar had rested, and Melita felt bad for subjecting her to such agony. She put her hand in the middle of Emerson's back, rubbing it as they separated. She went into the kitchen and Melita went to the bathroom. She drew a bath, prepared to make it as cold as possible, and went back into the kitchen where Emerson was looking in the icebox for something to eat.

"I'm drawing you a bath."

Emerson looked up. "You didn't have to do that."

"You didn't have to stay just 'cause I wanted to. I appreciate it. Go on. Don't let the tub overflow. I'll make you something to eat."

"Just a slice of watermelon would be good."

Melita nodded and Emerson brushed past her. Melita stepped to one side and breathed in a scent of cologne, sweat, and sun-baked skin. She shivered, glad that Emerson couldn't see, and watched her retreat down the hall. Melita hung her head and cursed herself quietly for being so utterly hopeless. 

#

That night Melita dreamed about the picnic. She dreamed that the day had been cooler, and Emerson invited her to dance. As they spun to the music, she pressed against her friend's body and realized she couldn't feel her curves. She also couldn't feel a lack of curves. She ran her hand down the middle of Emerson's back and let her lead, carried across the floor by her androgynous friend and partner. Emerson dipped her, and Melita looked up at a head haloed by sunlight. 

She woke gasping, one hand pressing the gown between her breasts as she scanned the room. She thought she could still smell the sun and the grass, could almost feel Emerson against her. Whether it was bravery that came with being half-asleep or the fact it was the witching hour when even bad ideas had the ring of brilliance, she kicked away her blankets and stumbled across the hall to Emerson's room. She turned on the hall light and eased the door open.

Emerson was curled on her side but sat up immediately. She wore a tank top, her breasts unbound underneath it. Melita could see her nipples were hard and felt a strange ache between her legs.

"Couldn't you sleep?" Emerson asked. Melita thought it was an odd question, considering she was obviously wide awake.

"Sleeping isn't the problem," Melita said. "It's the dreams I have once I get there."

Emerson nodded knowingly and scooted to one side, clearing part of the mattress. Melita hesitated and then stepped over the threshold into the room. Emerson held up the blankets, revealing she was wearing a pair of mens' briefs. Female on top and boyish on the bottom, Melita wet her lips as she put her knee on the bed and folded herself under the blanket. Emerson draped an arm around her waist and kissed her cheek, dangerously close to her mouth. 

"I'm here, Honeybee. Just go to sleep. I'll still be here."

"Emmy."

"Yeah?"

"I don't know. Nothing."

Emerson kissed her other cheek, and it was so close to Melita's fantasy that she nearly lost her breath. She put her head against Emerson's chest and closed her eyes, hoping the dreams would leave her alone now that she had made at least part of them come true.

The next night when Melita put down her book and said she was going to bed, Emerson stopped her by touching her hand. "Do you want to sleep in my room again?"

Melita thought about just shaking her head, laughing off the silliness of climbing into Emerson's bed in the first place, but her sleep had been so restful. When she woke it was as if she was relaxed for the first time since she came to Arnaq. So she'd nodded, and Emerson nodded back and said she would be there in a few minutes. 

They slept together without intimate contact for nearly a week, simply kissing each other on the cheek after the lights were out. Emerson sometimes murmured in her sleep, and sometimes Melita woke to find they were spooning. She got used to the feel of Emerson pressing her face into her hair, sniffing deeply, and sighing before she drifted off. One night, after the kiss on the cheek, Melita touched Emerson's face to keep her from going to sleep.

"That question I asked you after the picnic, about who you were."

"I'm still not ready to answer that."

"Good. Don't. Because I don't care. I thought I did, I thought it made a difference, but it doesn't. Because it's just clothes, Emmy. It's just clothes and a haircut, and it doesn't change anything. I love you. You're my best friend, and I don't want to know what I'd do without you. You created this life for me, and I love you for it. Man or woman, I don't care anymore. I just want you."

She closed her eyes and kissed Emerson's lips, holding still so Emerson could pull back if she wanted to. After a long moment she pulled back, tilted her head slightly away from the pillow, and kissed her again. Their tongues moved against each other, flickering gently, bumping against teeth as they experimented with this new thing. Emerson experimentally took control by moving her tongue into Melita's mouth, and Melita allowed it. 

They parted to breathe, gasping and staring at each other in the darkness. Emerson's lips looked puffy from the kisses, her eyes heavily lidded as she brushed her thumb heavily across Melita's cheek. Melita turned her head and kissed the inside of Emerson's wrist, and Emerson growled. She actually growled, and Melita squeezed her thighs together because against everything she'd ever known, the sound of Emerson's arousal made her wet.

Emerson put her hand in Melita's hair, holding the back of her head, and whispered, "Stop me when I go too far."

Melita nodded slowly. "I will."

Emerson kissed her again, showing more tenderness this time, and Melita felt her ears burning. The blood seemed to pool in her cheeks and ears when she was embarrassed or aroused, and she knew her freckles were standing out like beacons even in the dark. She opened her mouth and let Emerson's tongue inside, feeling more normal with every investigatory sweep of it, squirming as Emerson dropped her hands to pluck at the cotton of her nightgown with impatient fingers.

Her mind reeled. She lifted her arms over her head and then was naked, and she looked down at the top of Emerson's head as her breasts were suckled. Emerson kissed the valley between them, sliding her tongue up and then nibbling, kissing, sucking Melita's neck. Melita hooked her legs on Emerson's hip and lay back, pulling Emerson's weight onto her, and closed her eyes.

Emerson sat up, now kneeling in the middle of the bed, situated between Melita's naked thighs, and she stopped. Melita's heart was pounding and she grabbed for Emerson's hand. She needed some kind of contact between them. She couldn't go from what they had just been doing to having nothing. She guided Emerson's hand between her legs and cried out, then bit off the end of the sound. She lined her fingers up with Emerson's and showed her how she should move.

"You sure, Honeybee?"

"Uh-huh."

Emerson leaned in and kissed her, and then one slender finger pushed inside her. Her eyes rolled back and the first thought that flickered through her mind was _It's just like sex._ It was followed quickly by the realization of why that was, the acceptance that a woman was making love to her, and she felt something lift inside of her. She reached out and put her hand on the back of Emerson's head, guiding her forward.

"Please..."

Emerson flicked her tongue against her mouth, rolled it over her bottom lip, and Melita held her breath as Emerson ducked, her shoulder blades rising from her back like mountain peaks, her rear end in the air. She still wore her underwear, the blasted material obscuring the lines of her buttocks, but Melita knew she would see it clearly when--

" _Emerson!_ " She couldn't stop herself from screaming it, clapping a hand over her mouth as she dropped back to the pillow, breathing hard as Emerson held her lower body steady. Emerson, whose lips and tongue were currently... She squeezed her eyes shut and pushed her middle finger into her mouth, gnawing on it as her mind lost its ability to process reality. She was vaguely aware of a room around them, but the entirety of her focus was on where her body and Emerson's met. She was wet, Emerson's tongue was wet, and Melita wanted her entire body to turn into liquid so she could dissolve into Emerson's mouth. 

"Emerson," she gasped, quieter this time, almost amazed at how it sounded. "Emerson, Emerson, Emmy, Emers... uhn..." She pulled Emerson's hair by complete accident, whimpering a wordless apology and then collapsing back against the pillows as she suddenly remembered her need to breathe. Her breasts rose and fell with each inhale, both hands coming up to cover her breasts, eyes closed as she felt the sweat that was already drying on her face and chest.

"Melita?"

Her eyelashes fluttered and she realized she'd passed out or fallen asleep, parting her lips as she looked up into Emerson's face. "What now?"

"Nothing."

How could that be...? She pushed herself up on her elbows, very aware that she was naked and Emerson was still in her underpants, surely they couldn't be done. "What do you mean nothing?"

Emerson looked down at Melita's body. "You don't have to do anything..."

Melita understood then. She craned her neck until their foreheads were touching, and Emerson looked at her. Their noses bumped, and Melita kissed her. Emerson inhaled through her nose and released her breath into Melita's mouth, and they both moaned at the intimacy. Melita broke the kiss and ran her tongue over Emerson's mouth, squirming until Emerson let her up. 

"Just... tell me what to do, okay? Tell me if I do it wrong..."

"Are you sure?"

"Stop asking me if I'm sure and tell me--"

"Take off my underwear."

Together they got the underwear off, and Melita scooted off the edge of the bed. Emerson sat up, and Melita bowed her head. Emerson stroked the thick red curls away from Melita's face, twisting the strands around her fist like reins, the muscles of her thighs tight as Melita cautiously began to kiss, and then grew bolder. 

Melita was cautious, but not overly so. She believed her body knew what to do, so she just shut down her brain and let her tongue do its work. When Emerson whispered a suggestion Melita would take a moment before implementing it. At one point she held her breath so long that she hiccupped, and Emerson fell back with laughter.

"Sorry..."

"It's okay, Honeybee..."

She hiccupped again, and she kissed Emerson's thigh. A third hiccup, a fourth, and then holding her breath paid off. When she'd gone ten seconds without an attack, she went back to what she had been doing. Emerson's chuckles transformed into moans, and she cupped her breasts through her top. 

At one point Melita lifted her head. "Are you do--"

Emerson pushed her head back into place and Melita decided her job apparently wasn't finished yet. When the time came - so to speak - Melita had no doubt in her mind that Emerson had an orgasm. Her cheeks burned and she kept her eyes shut as she pushed her tongue inside even as Emerson's sex throbbed around it, her nose poking against Emerson's clitoris. She didn't mind how strong Emerson's thighs felt around her, or how her blunt fingernails were hurting her scalp. She closed her eyes and realized she could suffocate there, in that smell with that taste, and she knew she'd be okay with that.

"Fuck," Emerson sobbed. 

Melita slid up her body and they kissed, Emerson's tongue already feeling normal in her mouth, and they twisted so they were facing each other. Melita wanted to talk, wanted to tell Emerson this wasn't a one-night thing. She wanted to reassure her that what just happened was the result of soul-searching and weeks of agonizing over what to do. Instead she just whispered, "Emmy," as she drifted off, her tongue sweeping once over her lips to taste Emerson on them. Her lips curled into a smile as she went to sleep in her friend's arms.

#

The next morning Emerson woke and found Melita watching her. "You didn't stop me."

"You never got to the point where I wanted you to stop."

Emerson touched Mel's hair - she had always loved her hair - and brought a handful to her face to smell it. "The question you asked me," she said softly, Melita's hair giving her a bright red mustache. "About what I am on the inside, without all the genetics and the costumes? You still want to know?"

"No. It was a dumb question." Melita ran her hand over the lines of Emerson's face. "You're both at the same time."

Emerson smiled. "You okay with that?"

Melita nodded slowly. "As long as you're you, I don't care what else is true."

Emerson kissed her, and Melita slid her hands up and under Emerson's shirt to feel the smooth skin and taut muscles of her back. She was aware of the fact they'd just made their ruse more complicated - to the public at large, they were now going to have to fake a platonic friendship - but she didn't care. The world could see whatever it wanted; she'd finally figured out that what she saw was the only thing that mattered.


End file.
